


Something to Gain

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Sastiel, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Dean and Reader share a drink on a cold December night and discover that playing it safe is not playing at all.





	Something to Gain

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn’t call it angst but I wouldn’t necessarily call it fluff? I would call it fluff-ish. A moody little piece set around Christmas. Also probably way too long, but such is life when you suck at editing. Neutral reader.

It’s a quiet and chilly night in mid-December. You’re thankful for the quiet; after last week’s grave dig-a-palooza, trying to crack into cold ground in Vermont for _multiple_ sets of bones, you’re happy to let your body rest. You plan to sit down on your bed with a warm drink and zone out to a movie on your laptop, or idly browse on your phone. Maybe both.

As you turn into the kitchen though, your plans are derailed when you see Sam and Castiel. Sam is leaning in close, saying something soft to the angel whose eyes are drooping low as his hand smoothes out over the hunter’s. They’re lost to the world in a silent intimacy that almost takes your breath away. They disappear suddenly –whisked away by Castiel, no doubt. You smile at that. After everything, the two of them certainly deserve some peace and happiness.

Your plans, no longer derailed, still shift tracks. You put together your drink but make another, add a splash or two of alcohol to both for some extra warmth, and set out in search of the other occupant of this strange household. You glance around the library as you pass, not really expecting to see him, but there he is.

Dean’s sitting at a table, his temple resting on his fist, and he’s staring blankly at an open book. His eyes are open but he doesn’t shift an inch to turn the page while you stare unabashedly as his deceptively smooth face catches the light and shadows just right. When you first met Sam and Dean you didn’t know how their faces stayed so nice and unblemished. When you met Castiel you sort of understood– sort of. Even an angel can only do so much and this life is harsh. You yourself have more scars than you care to count. But Dean, he’s got a face that wouldn’t show what a hard life he’s lived. He could escape; do anything other than hunt the dark things in the night.

But you know his soul says otherwise.

You shake your head and force yourself to move. It takes a few moments of holding the drink right next to his head but slowly, surely, he blinks and glances at it. He sits up and takes it, flashing you a smile. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He sips. “Little light on the content, though.”

You roll your eyes and take a seat at the head of the table, technically sitting next to him but still with enough distance to ease your ever-present nerves. Since Sam is too occupied to scold you, you lean back in your chair and rest your feet on the table. “This drink is for sipping, not gulping.”

“Fair enough.” He leans back in his own chair and green eyes glitter in the light as he holds up his mug. “What are we drinking to?”

You shrug and raise your drink. “Um…Sam and Cas finally pulling their heads out of their asses?”

Dean snorts. “After what I witnessed in the kitchen yesterday I almost wish they hadn’t.”

“The kitchen again?” You frown. “Is there mistletoe in there or something?”

He looks at you with a flat expression. “Do they need an excuse?”

“Fair enough.”

“How about…” He smirks at you. “To the two single losers spending their Saturday night in a library?”

You move your drink to his and they hit together lightly, both of you mindful of the hot liquid within. Dean shuts the book and moves it away and the two of you settle into easy silence only occasionally punctuated by meaningless chatter. It feels good. Not a lot does these days– it’s sort of expected; the ebb and flow of hunting does sometimes (sometimes often) bring about the question of ‘what the hell am I doing with my life?’ to which you answer either ‘the only thing I can’ or ‘what needs to be done to help people’. Both of them bring their own sense of moroseness, but you find what you need to keep moving on. Teaching Castiel more about the world he now calls home, listening to Sam geek out about something (sometimes just to tease him about it later), or just spending any second you can with Dean.

Dean who has always held a special something over you, whether it’s his powerful green eyes or the way he can make a flirty comment like it’s nothing. You’ve never had the courage to follow any of it through and Dean has never acted like he’s minded. If he’s even really interested you think he might be as afraid of that as you are, and that’s probably not how a relationship can work.

But you wonder if that’s how a relationship can start.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

You chuckle. “I think you’re overpricing yourself there, considering the content.”

“I already adjusted for inflation,” he says and winks.

You smile. You put your drink down on the table and lean back, stretching before you put your hands behind your head. This time when he watches you, like he’s looking at a pretty thing in a bar, you feel…baffled. Still, you act nonchalant, even though his gaze makes you feel anything but. “Just wondering why you’re part of the ‘single losers in a library’ club,” you say. “You could be out on the town if you wanted.”

“Hm.” He shrugs and puts his mug on the table. “Maybe.”

You shrug. Shit; he’s shutting down. “It’s not a criticism. Just a comment.”

“What I meant was…maybe the town doesn’t have what I want.”

His look is intense again and you’re not imagining it. The way he’s looking at you. You look at him sideways and he smiles at you, in that thin way he does when someone –a cop, a witness, a whatever– isn’t telling him what he wants to hear. What he knows. “You could too,” he says. “Be out. Getting someone to keep you company.”

You give his smile right back to him. “I know the town doesn’t have what I want.”

“Oh?” he says and takes another drink, even though it must be cold by now.

“You don’t have to play dumb, Dean,” you say and he stops moving. “It’s okay. I’m not the kind of person that gets who they want.”

He squints, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “What makes you think that?”

“I’m not your typical partner.”

“Yeah, well…who says you aren’t what I’ve wanted all along?”

You stare at him, willing yourself not to show any emotion. None at all. He stares back just as intently and though you wait for a smirk or a wink…they don’t come. You swallow a lump forming in your throat. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it, Winchester.”

His eyes don’t leave yours. Even as he puts his drink on the table, even as he swings one leg over your lap and sits, straddling you. He’s heavy but nothing you can’t handle. But then he leans in closer, putting his arms around you, essentially caging you. You still don’t look away; you’ve stared down bigger and badder.

You think.

He leans in to press his lips to yours and it’s the tenderness that almost kills you. His lips move against yours, _asking_ you to open, and you do, thinking it will become hard and demanding but Dean is still so soft, moving slowly enough to taste you. You match his pace, not knowing what to expect, not knowing what any of this is or means, but damn if you aren’t going to enjoy every second of it. Just in case.

After a while he pulls his head back and you stare at each other. He’s breathing heavier, like you, and you wonder if he has to slow his heart before it comes out of his chest, like you. Soft lashes drape across his half-lidded eyes and when he huffs, you feel the little puff of air. “I’m not the only one afraid to lose.”

“I never said you were,” you say. You’re not sure you even said that much, but Dean Winchester has always been too smart for everyone else’s good. You let your eyes drift back to his full, soft lips and you lick your own in anticipation. “But what exactly are you afraid to lose?”

He smirks and leans back in so that his nose is pressed next to yours. You can almost feel his eyelashes. “Right now…I think I’m more afraid to lose out.” He kisses you again and it’s still tender but more forceful, more real; it’s _Dean_ , giving himself to you, and you hesitate only a moment before you give yourself in return.


End file.
